


Have a Little Fist in Me

by TallDarkandNerdy



Series: One Fist Man [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Doctor Mayuzumi is not a happy camper, M/M, One Fist Man, One Punch Man Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallDarkandNerdy/pseuds/TallDarkandNerdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mayuzumi Chihiro really didn't want to hear about the private lives of Akashi and his super-fisting mentor, but sometimes Life likes to play cruel tricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have a Little Fist in Me

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I'm weak and somehow got too involved in writing about superheroes who "fist for fun." But it's a hoot to write, and I loved developing the narrative in a exasperated Chihiro's POV.
> 
> This is a continuation of [this little gem](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6176545) and has grown to hold a soft spot in my heart.

Mayuzumi Chihiro couldn’t care less about what Akashi did in his personal life. He was technically an adult and, frankly, shouldn’t have grown so dependent on the disgruntled doctor’s care.  _Especially_  when said disgruntled doctor had better things to spend his time with than fix up a vengeful cyborg who declared bloodthirsty vengeance on the monster who killed his mother. It was probably his own fault for taking pity on him when he was nothing more than a dying, disfigured body who cried out like a lost child, but whatever. Aside from the continuous maintenance visits to fix the other up and earn some cash, Doctor Mayuzumi would not allow himself to become closely involved in the teenager’s life.

But all that changed when Akashi Seijuro met Furihata Kouki.

In the beginning, Chihiro didn’t notice the name of the future pain in his side when Akashi was carted to his workshop in separate pieces after a particularly damaging battle with a mutant spider man. He ho-hummed when the redhead described in awe the “unbelievable naked man” who killed the arachnid with one hit across the face, not really listening (as if he ever tried that before) in favor of soldering Akashi’s shattered chest-plate and reminding himself to squeeze in an additional thousand bucks on the service charge.  _This metal was expensive, where the fuck does he get off—_

“—and he’s agreed to mentor me.”

“That’s nice,” he mumbled. “Now shut up and let me re-wire your voice box.”

“Don’t worry. My voice box wasn’t damaged during the fight, Doctor.”

“I know.” The rest of the visit was delightfully silent, save for the occasional angry  _tap-a-tap_  of Akashi’s fingers drumming against the side of the gurney.

* * *

 

A few days later, the name “Furihata” was once again on Akashi’s mind when he returned a few days later with a cracked eye-lens and a ridiculous afro.

“Your injuries are getting more ridiculous,” Chihiro complained after he finished stitching a fresh red wig onto the teenager’s synthetic scalp. “Don’t you know stupidity doesn’t mean indestructibility?”

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“You better be fucking sorry! That eye lens cost me half a month’s salary last time it broke!”

Akashi closed his working eye. “I will pay for any unnecessary expenses,” he replied coolly.

The doctor harrumphed and replaced his needle and thread with a pair of tweezers. “You’ll be bankrupt if you keep going on like this,” he groused, though he knew that wasn’t true. The only thing he knew about Akashi’s former life was that he had the financial security that only emperors could dream of possessing. As he picked broken glass and metal scraps from one of the multiple wound sites, he added, “You won’t be more than a pile of scrap-metal by the time you find the guy who killed off your family.”

He felt Akashi bristle under his touch and he wondered if he pushed that sensitive line between being an asshole and being heartless, but the redhead seemed to relax moments later. “That’s true, but Furihata-sensei needed me.”

Chihiro paused, tweezers still clasping a piece of scrap, and gave Akashi a strange look. “ _Sensei?_ ”

“Yes. My master.”

Now, Chihiro had seen a lot of things in his twenty-five years on this God-forsaken planet. He’d seen giant crab-men throwing cars as though they were baseballs. He’d seen the mechanical structure of a deceased extraterrestrial android before it self-destructed when he tried extracting parts for “research.” Hell, he even saw an eighteen-foot cyborg destroy the infrastructure of Akashi Corporation’s skyscraper in a matter of seconds. But he never thought he’d see the day when Akashi called someone his  _master._

He eyed Akashi to determine if he accidentally switched some essential wire or processing unit, but who was he kidding? Someone of his caliber wouldn’t do something as mediocre as that. “He’s the nudist who kicked the shit out of that mutant, right?”

Akashi’s fans flared up, and Chihiro couldn’t help but smirk at how obvious the redhead was when he got flustered. If he weren’t such a cynical bastard, he would’ve called it cute. “He is, but I assure you that’s not part of his usual lifestyle.”

He snorted and continued his work. “He must really be something if you’re willing to call him  _sensei_.”

The cyborg was quiet for a moment, but he smiled softly and nodded. “Yes, he really is amazing.” He tilted his head back and stared up at the cement ceiling, smile still painted on his face. “He’s strong.”

Chihiro picked a piece of plaster from his collarbone. “Mm-hm.”

“And friendly.”

“Mm.”

“And he’s a master at fisting.”

The tweezers slipped out of his hands and clattered loudly against the floor tiles, but Chihiro was too busy choking on his own spit. “He’s  _what_?”

Akashi furrowed his eyebrows, and leaned up a little on his elbows. “He’s one of the best fisters I’ve met…Doctor Mayuzumi, are you okay?”

The usually cool-headed doctor wasn’t listening though; he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off an incoming headache. “I can’t believe it.”

“But it’s true,” he responded, assuming that the disbelief stemmed from Furihata’s ability to fist. “The way he casually fists his enemies into submission until they give is just…fascinating.”

“I’m sure,” he replied, impressed that he didn’t gag too obviously.

“I still don’t know how he does it so well. Even after he fisted me, I can’t pinpoint his technique.”

No.  _No. Ew. Push away those mental images right fucking now before I bleach it away._

Akashi took the look of disgust on his face for concern. “Don’t worry, Doctor, I’m fine. He was very gentle, so my body wasn’t damaged. Still, it was very…” He looked away, taking a deep breath, “… _overwhelming._ ”

Chihiro grimaced, knowing more information about his patient’s sexual awakening. It wasn’t like it was impossible for him to participate in those kinds of…activities. He wasn’t a monster, after all, and did promise to reconstruct Akashi’s body so he could live as normal a life as he could, but…he just didn’t  _expect_  him to use any of the equipment below the belt.

But just because he gave him the ability didn’t mean he wanted to hear about it. 

“Look,” he started, pointedly not making eye contact. “It’s great that you found someone to…do  _that_ with, but I’d rather not hear about it.”

Akashi blinked. “…Why not?”

Chihiro scoffed. “Why not? Because it’s a private thing between you two! God, don’t you kids have any concern for privacy?”

“We’re only six years apart—”

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” he snapped. “Just keep all that for the bedroom!”

The fucking kid had the gall to  _laugh_  and sit up. “With how rigorously we do it, there’s no way we can practice indoors.”

“Ew.  _Ew, I really don’t want to know.”_  He covered his eyes with one gloved hand, not noticing how Akashi was reaching over to grab his phone from the gurney’s side-table. “I don’t know what exhibitionist you decided to spend your time with, but I’m not paid enough to be your mechanic  _and_ your therapist—”

He stopped his rant when Akashi’s phone was pushed into his face. He jerked back reflexively—honestly, Akashi has absolutely  _no_ knowledge of personal space—but furrowed his eyebrows when he saw a shaky video playing on-screen. 

“See? If we tried doing this in Furihata-sensei’s apartment, his neighbors wouldn’t be happy,” Akashi explained casually, and transferred the phone into his hands.

Chihiro brought the phone closer and watched as the image of a yellow-clad figure leapt through the air, fists swinging into the stomachs and chests of hideous-looking creatures. He stared at the violent collapses, the spattered blood on the sidewalks, the pleased sounds of Akashi behind the camera congratulating his master’s success.

He wanted to slap himself.

This wasn’t “fisting.” This was punching.  _He thinks that_ this  _is fisting._

He wanted to slap Akashi.

“You’re an idiot,” he sneered and tossed the phone back, but ignored the way the cyborg grabbed for the phone and demanded an explanation. There was no way, even if pigs suddenly flew past his window of if his workshop froze over, that he’d ever be the one to explain what fisting actually was to the overly-curious redhead.

_As they say,_  he reassured himself as he picked up his utensils and resumed work on his patient’s still-battered body,  _ignorance is bliss._

* * *

Chihiro wasn’t surprised when Akashi came in routinely for repairs every week, with busted parts after a bruising mission with his  _sensei._  He still groused and bitched at him when he’d come in, because  _that machine-gun-powered arm was nearly impossible to create, I spent weeks on it, you little shit,_ but Chihiro gradually became used to the frequent visits and the stories about how Furihata somehow makes the best tofu soup this side of the continent and other little anecdotes in their crime-fighting lives.

“Do you think I’ll ever be as good a fister as Sensei is?”

“Will you shut up?”

Okay, he enjoyed it  _most_ of the time.

* * *

Chihiro already had his equipment out before Akashi usually arrived for maintenance work; if the news report about a sea monster invading City S was any indication, the Idiotic duo were already on the scene to take out the giant piece of sushi. He polished his tools, and checked his watch. The report was made hours ago, he mused, and looked out his window to examine the street. It was empty, save for the occasional couple and dog walker.

He shrugged.  _It must’ve been an easy fight._

The sun was setting when he was putting away his unused tools, but the sudden swing of his workshop’s front door made him jump in his seat.

He glanced over at the entrance, eyes squinting from the harsh red light of the sunset streaming from the open doorway, and opened his mouth to tell off the tardy cyborg. “I’m not a twenty-four hour service, you—“

He froze mid-scold, because that  _wasn’t_ Akashi’s figure standing in the doorway. His body was instead in the arms of another figure, looking as crumpled and disfigured as the day Chihiro found him under the rubble of his family’s destroyed skyscraper.

The man holding him was gasping for air blood spattered against his face and yellow suit. “You’re Doctor Mayuzumi, right?” He panted, sounding panicked and fatigued. He tightened his hold on the bundle in his arms, then pleaded, “Help him, please. It was my fault.  _Please, I’m so sorry._ ”

Chihiro had a sinking feeling that his pleads weren’t directed solely at him, but he tilted his head towards the gurney. “Put him over there,” he replied, and slipped his gloves back on.

It was a long night.

Chihiro only remembered these kinds of nights from before he focused on engineering, when he was studying to be an actual doctor. It was long nights in the ER with countless bodies rushed through surgeries and sobbing family members in the waiting room that made him turn to mechanical work. At least pieces of metal couldn’t cause so much heartache. But from the anguished looks of the brunet man hovering behind them as he worked and the throbbing headache behind his own eyes, that didn’t seem to be the case.

The sun was beginning to peak up over the skyline of the city when he sighed wearily and snapped his gloves off. “Done.”

The man near him—Furihata, he assumed—shot up from his seat, and blinked his eyes to keep himself awake. “He’s okay?” His voice cracked, but he ambled by Akashi’s side before he got a proper answer.

Chihiro cleared his throat and nodded. “He’ll need to rest before he can return to crime-fighting, but he’ll be fine after a full recovery.”

The man nodded, but didn’t move his eyes off Akashi’s unconscious face.

He took opportunity to examine Akashi’s so-called master, now that he wasn’t struggling to keep his patient alive. At first glance, he wasn’t anything impressive. He was an average height, his suit nearly hung off him, and his hair was mousy and shaggy. Where was the grand superhero Akashi claimed to know so well?

It was only the way Furihata’s eyes flashed with something akin to purely extracted rage and the gurney’s stainless steel rail gave way under his clenched fist that convinced Chihiro of the other man’s power. 

Letting curiosity get the better of him, he trotted over to collect his used tools. “You’re Furihata, right?” he asked nonchalantly, and didn’t miss the way the brunet jolted.

“I, uh—yes,” he stammered, the flash in his eyes gone in exchanged for a sheepish expression. He looked down at the wrecked rail and winced. “Sorry about that, I can pay—”

“Forget it,” he interrupted. “It wasn’t that expensive.”

“Oh.”

For a while there was a deafening silence between the two of them, with Chihiro cleaning his bloody materials and Furihata watching over Akashi like a hawk. But the doctor broke it once the sun was streaming through his dingy window when he looked over at the exhausted hero. “You said it was your fault,” he mused, tone demanding an explanation. From how Akashi described him, Furihata was hardly the type of person to neglect his partner’s safety.

Furihata grimaced. “I—yeah,” he replied. “Akashi managed to find the Sea Monster we were after first. Half the city was trapped there, and um. He fell for a trap when he lunged to protect a few school kids from an attack, and…” He trailed off, and laughed miserably. “It wouldn’t have happened if I got there in time. Some teacher I am, right?”

Chihiro watched him carefully, then snorted and turned away. “You’re an idiot.”

The brunet squeaked at that. “What—?”

“Lemme ask you something. What would you have done if you were there when those kids needed help?”

“I would’ve jumped to block them,” he replied immediately.

“Then I fail to see how you’re a bad teacher for Akashi.” He glanced at him through his fringe of silver hair. “You’ve taught him how to be an effective superhero, and he followed through. I don’t think he’d ask for a better mentor.”

Furihata shook slightly, and wiped his eyes with a smudged glove. “Anyone would’ve done that,” he said quietly.

“No, not anyone. Not anyone would’ve gone into the line of fire for the sake of a few brats.” He chuckled, and added, “You’re both real pieces of work, you know that?”

Before either one could continue, Akashi stirred tiredly and peeled open his eyes. He glanced around the room blearily, but they focused when they landed on Furihata. “Sen…sei?”

“Akashi,” he cooed, a relieved smile plastered on his face for the first time since he barged through the doorway. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore.” He tried to flex his shoulders, but gave up much movement and collapsed back onto the cushioned surface. “I’m sorry,” he grounded out, and turned his gaze up to the ceiling, “I’m not a very helpful student.”

On any occasion Chihiro would’ve recorded the confession as grounded proof the cocky Akashi Seijuro could  _actually_  apologize and admit that he’s imperfect, but he opened his mouth instead to dismiss those claims.

Furihata beat him to it. “Don’t speak that way,” he snapped, and grabbed Akashi’s hand to squeeze it. “Those civilians would’ve died if you weren’t there. I’m the one who didn’t do my duty.”

“Master—“

“Thank you, Seijuro. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.” Akashi whipped his gaze back to Furihata, and the way they stared at each other made Chihiro avert his eyes from the scene.  _Idiots, both of them_ , he thought with a hint of amusement. 

So these idiots were the protectors of his world…Chihiro could live with that.


End file.
